July 13, 2012

Spencer Hontiveros has been working in the Manila City
Morgue ever since he graduated from college. His father had high hopes that
he’d become a heart surgeon like him or a brain surgeon like his mother, but
Spencer’s medical career took a turn when he was assigned to morgue duty during
med school and felt that he finally found his true calling.

He liked the silence that the dead had to offer rather than
the chatter of the living.

There had been times when the ghosts of the cadavers would
try to send him a message, but he has learned to ignore them, because he knows
that he wouldn’t have to deal with them after they’ve left his morgue.

And if he gets the kind of ghost that’s too much of a bother
or the kind that gives a clue to their unsolved death, he knows exactly who to
call; someone who knows how to deal with the cases that involve dealing with the
underworld.

As the morgue’s chief medical examiner, Spencer has seen his
fair share of gun shot victims, stabbing victims, decapitated heads, and bodies
cut in half by speeding 18-wheeler trucks.

Then there are the nights when he gets bodies drained of
blood and there’s a hint of a puncture mark on the bellybutton or women who’ve
died because of a miscarriage but the fetus is nowhere to be found.

On those nights, he quickly picks up his Nokia and hits the
“8” key, speed dialing the first person under the letter “T”.

On this particular night, he just finished fixing some
reports when he heard the knock on the door and knew it was her.

“Come in!” he said. “Come in, Trese!”

The lady dressed in black pushed the door open and stood by
the doorway for a moment. She surveyed the room as she walked towards him.

“Good evening, Spunky,” said Alexandra Trese.

Spunky. His old nickname from med school, which he never got
rid of.

Trese glanced at the clock on the wall and said, “Sorry, I’m
late. Had to deal with some tikbalang causing accidents on C5.”

“Another horny colt on the loose? Did you banish him back to
the mountains?” Spencer smirked.

“Unfortunately, my family and the tikbalang clan go a long
way back. So, I just let the datu of the tikbalang reprimand the colt after I
caught him.”

“You caught him?”

“Actually, I beat him in a race.” Trese said. “So, he had no
choice but to obey me.”

“Impressive. So, that means…”

“Yes, the tikbalang owes me three favors.”

“Did you wish for world peace?”

“No.”

Trese looked at the clock again and then asked, “So, why did
you call me?”

Spencer stood between two metal gurneys and pointed to the
bodies covered by a thin white sheet. “Let me introduce you to tonight’s guest,
Mr. and Mrs. Villaroman. Age 64 and 66.”

“Cause of death?” Trese asked.

“Heart attack.”

“Natural causes?”

“Yes, from the looks of it.” Spencer cleared his throat.

Trese tilted her head and stared at Spencer and he knew it
was the “So-why-I-am-I-here-look”. So, Spencer flipped open two folders and
started to read from two different reports.

Spencer knew he finally got Trese’s attention. “So, you
think this has something to do with snakeboy? The one who lives in the basement
of the mall?”

“He’s not a snake. He’s a dragon. And I already took care of
him. Besides, he was interested in young girls, not grandparents.”

Spencer then got a pile of folders from his desk and fanned
them like a deck of cards. “And here’s where you’ll say `interesting` again.
Take a look at these reports. I would’ve noticed them sooner but I was away on
vacation.”

“You actually went on a vacation?” Trese raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it was medical examiner’s convention in Vegas. Got my
dear old dad to pay for my trip. I think he was just more than happy that I was
actually going to mingle with live people.”

Spencer flipped open the files. “Here are five other deaths
that have happened in the past three months. All of them were 60 years old and
above. All of them died at exactly 4:44pm at Cinema 4 in Robertson Mall.”

“And all of them died of natural causes?”

“As far as I can tell. No toxins in the body. No poisons.
Although I can think of several toxins that can make a death look like a heart
attack.”

Trese’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting,” she muttered under her
breath. “Thanks Spunky, seems like I’m going to the movies tomorrow.”

*****

The
afternoon crowd shambled past Trese, who was looking at the schedule of Cinema
4.

There
was a 2:55pm screening, which ended at 4:44pm.

Trese
lined up for a ticket.

In
front of her was an old couple. The wife rummaged through her purse and slowly
fished out their senior citizen’s cards, which gave them free admission in the
movie theater.

The
ticket seller smiled and asked, “Are
you here for the last full show?”

The old couple tilted
their heads, as if they weren’t sure of what they were just asked; and then
they nodded and said yes. The machine spat out two tickets.

Trese stepped up to the
counter.

The ticker seller looked
at her, smiled, and said, “Ticket for one?”

Inside, Trese saw an old
man seated at the front of row. He was laughing so hard he was in tears. There
were three grannies in the middle section who giggled like school girls.

She spotted the old couple
that entered before her. They were holding hands. The wife was sobbing, yet
smiling. Her husband leaned over, wiped away her tears and whispered, “This is
my favorite part.”

Trese looked at the light
coming from the projector booth and followed it to the wide, white screen --
where it showed nothing.

Up in the booth, Trese
found a pale man keeping watch over the movie projector.

“Who are you?” Trese
asked. “What are you showing these people?”

“Ms. Trese! My associate
told me you were here! I apologize for not informing you we already set up shop
in the city. Our Mistress Sidapa told us to get your permission first.”

“Call me Ishmael. My associate
outside is Lino. We just thought this was easier, rather than wait for all
these people to die and go pick up their souls. We thought we’d provide for
them this service, invite them here, so they can review their lives one last
time and let them decide if they still want to stay a bit longer or not. And
if they’ve made up their minds that all is well, we let them doze off -- before
we punch their ticket.”

She looked down at the
theater, at the people enjoying the film she could not see and said, “If you’re
conning these people to give up their souls, if you’re running some sort of kaluluwa smuggling operation, believe me
when I tell you that not even Sidapa can protect you for me.”

Ishmael looked down and
nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

She was about to step out
of the booth when Ishmael asked, “Is there anything you’d like to watch?”

He held up a ticket. “Anything
at all. It’s on the house.”

Trese picked a seat near
the exit, picked the year of her eighth birthday; stayed long enough to see the
part where her mom read her a bedtime story, but did not stay to see how that
particular night would end. She knew that part very well – the reason why she
had bound herself to protect the city from the forces of the underworld.

As she walked out of the
movie theater, she pulled out her cellphone. “Hello Spunky, I think you’ll be
expecting more guests coming from Cinema 4. I want you to give me an update
every time one comes in, especially if they deviate from the usual pattern.”

Trese walked past the
ticket booth and said, “And Spunky, if you’re planning to watch a movie here in
the mall, just make you sure you don’t get the ticket for the Last Full Show.”